Page 23 of Grizzly's Grump
Now I feel her. Not in some metaphorical, romantic way. I feel her. The ley lines thrum with her—bright, raw, and unguarded—as if she’s broadcast straight into the current, calling everything toward her. She’s touching something ancient and volatile with no protection and no understanding of what it means. Tension builds in my arms, muscles tightening like they’re bracing for impact, every part of me screaming to move—to find her.
By the time I do, she’s lying flat on her back, half-covered in leaves, staring blankly up at the sky. Her body’s trembling as if someone rewired it from the inside out. Her eyes snap into focus the second I drop to my knees beside her.
"Calder?" Her voice is wrecked. Confused. Vulnerable in a way that slices me open.
"I’ve got you," I say roughly, scooping her into my arms.
She doesn’t fight it—just melts against me like her body remembers I’ve done this before. I don’t say another word as I carry her back through the woods. The air crackles around us, ley energy still humming like it’s looking for an outlet. I keep my head down, my senses sharp. Whatever that flare is, it leaves a mark.
She’s quiet the entire way back to my cottage, but her body’s wound tight, and I can see the tremble in her hands when she thinks I’m not looking. Her eyes stay fixed ahead, unseeing, but every so often, she tilts her head slightly, trying to read my face—as if weighing whether I’m a threat or something worse.
My jaw locks, the hum of the ley lines still vibrating through me. There’s a charge between us now, sharp and restless, and it shivers through the silence—something tense and on the verge of unraveling. The second I set her down on the porch steps, she turns that sharp gaze on me.
"What the hell was that?" she whispers.
I don’t answer. Not yet.
"Don’t you dare clam up now, Calder Hayes. Not after dragging me through that hell without a warning."
I grit my teeth. "I didn’t drag you anywhere. You’re the one who decided to play Nancy Drew in the middle of a ley line break."
"Because you won’t tell me the truth!"
She has a point, and I hate that she does.
She sways slightly as she climbs the steps but catches herself. From the shadows near the trees, one of my brothers starts toward us, concern written all over him, but I shake my head—one sharp motion that warns him off. Cilla doesn’t wait. She continues to make her way, and I fall in behind her, teeth set hard, pulse hammering.
Inside, she wanders to the couch and curls herself up in the corner. Once inside, I crouch in front of the big log-burning fireplace and light the fire with a flick of the old gas starter, the click of metal on stone echoing louder than it should in the quiet room. The flames catch with a low whoosh, throwing fractured light across the rough-hewn beams and stone walls of the cottage. The scent of charred wood and cold ash hangs in the air, and I feel the pressure bands across my shoulders as the fire slowly grows. The hearth snaps to life, shadows dancing along the stone.
I toss a blanket at her—more gruff practicality than comfort—but she doesn’t move to catch it. The soft thud as it lands on the back of the couch is the only sound besides the fire. My eyes track her movements, her fingers twitching at her sides, her breath coming faster than it should.
Her head comes up; her eyes focusing on me. "Start talking, Calder. No more cryptic warnings."
I drag a hand down my face. My instincts scream to shut down, to protect the truth like I always have, but she’s staring at me like she already knows I’m standing on the edge ofsomething bigger. My jaw aches with the effort to hold it all in. The fire feels too loud, and her gaze too sharp.
I never wanted her to see this side of me. But she’s not backing down—and some part of me, the part already tangled up in her whether or not I like it, knows she deserves the truth.
I take a deep breath. "Redwood Rise isn’t like other towns. It sits on a convergence of ley lines—ancient rivers of energy that run beneath the earth like a nervous system for the world. Old magic, older than any of us, pulses through them. Most people can’t feel it, not really. But those of us born here? We’re bound to it. Shaped by it. The land breathes through us—and sometimes, it roars."
Sitting down in the chair across from her, I continue, "Generations ago, the first—of what we now call shifters—settled here."
I hesitate on the word, watching her face. Maybe she's heard it before, maybe in the pages of a romance novel, but this isn’t fiction. It’s blood-deep truth, and the only name we have for what we are.
"Drawn by the energy, they forged a bond with the land, each line anchoring their animal spirits, amplifying their connection to instinct and earth.”
“You can’t be serious? You expect me to just nod along like this isn’t completely insane?
“You wanted answers. I’m trying to give them to you. We became more than men. Not beasts, not monsters—guardians. The ley lines are power, yes—but they’re also memory. They remember pain, blood, sacrifice. And when they flare, it’s because something has disturbed that balance."
"What are you saying? That you're some kind of paranormal freak?"
"No. I'm a shifter—like everyone else here. You're the exception. What happened tonight... something old woke up,and it reached for the nearest spark it could find. That spark was you."
I hold her gaze. "We’ve always known the lines could react to someone untrained—but not like this. Not with that kind of force."
The silence stretches long and brittle between us.
"You mean you're like... witches?"
